


Seeing You Soon

by the23rdspectacledone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, I'm strangely attracted to titles with the letter "S", It's a bit shit, Just threw this together yesterday, M/M, was a bit bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the23rdspectacledone/pseuds/the23rdspectacledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always thought they'd grow old together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing You Soon

Greg was driving along on a spring morning, a bouquet of osirian roses resting on the passenger seat. He drove through the city for awhile, thinking it might help him clear his head. He couldn’t stay at home. It was too quiet. As he drove, he thought,  _“Enough stalling, Greg…It’s time.”_

An hour later, he was on the outskirts of London, driving up the grassy hills. He looked around, appreciating the scenery, just like how Mycroft did every time they drove up to the Holmes Manor in Sussex. It’s been awhile since he went out like this. A smile crept onto his face as he began to get lost in thought.

_Flashback_

It was a wonderful spring morning as Greg and Mycroft walked in Regent’s, simply laughing as the other was trying to tell a joke. Mycroft shook his head, laughing, as Greg tried to crack another joke, but failed miserably. After days of not being able to see each other, they finally had a day off that was on the same day as the other’s.

“Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, “I am sure you’ve got other talents, but comedy isn’t one of them,” he said teasingly as he saw Greg’s face flush slightly.

Greg looked up at him and pouted, “Then why are you laughing?”

Mycroft tilted his head and rubbed his chin, appearing to think for a few seconds, and then turned back to Greg, “I like laughing with you.” He turned his head as they passed an elderly couple. They were just seated on one of the park benches, listening to the singing of the birds, and just having a wonderful time with each other. Mycroft stared at the couple for awhile, stopping him from his walk.

Greg kept walking a few paces further, but also stopped when he noticed Mycroft wasn’t beside him anymore. He looked back behind him to see the younger man, his expression soft as he stared at the old couple. He walked over to him, and then curled his fingers around his hand, drawing Mycroft’s attention. “They look sweet, don’t they…?” he said softly as he looked down at their entwined fingers.

Mycroft’s lips curled into a smile slowly, nodding, “Indeed…”

They were silent for a few seconds as they watched the couple a bit more. And then Mycroft looked at Greg, his eyes scanning over his boyish profile.

“Gregory…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Do you think either of us will live long enough to have a moment like that…?” he said quietly, nodding toward the old couple.

Greg’s smile faded as he asked that, now replaced with a curious pout. He brought his hand up to his face and cupped Mycroft’s cheek, his thumb idly stroking his cheek bone. He smiled reassuringly, eyes bright. “Of course we will,” he grinned, “Why’d you ask that…?”

Mycroft shook his head, looking back down at their hands. “Nothing…it’s just…”

“Just what…?”

“Well,” he mumbled, “Our professions are rather dangerous to an extent…and either of us may die at any day…” he sighed, “I never really expected to live that long, nor did I want to…but now…” he looked up and met Greg’s eyes, icy-blue orbs staring into dark ones, “I would actually like to grow old…grow old with you.”

Greg stared at Mycroft, his heart aching at the simple thought of losing Mycroft too early. But it was immediately replaced by joy when he thought about growing old with Mycroft. God, he definitely wanted that. He really did. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s. “I want to grow old with you too…” he whispered against Mycroft’s lips, a content expression on his face.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Yard had been in a frenzy for the past few months, all thanks to that Moriarty business. Greg couldn’t get the chance to see Mycroft throughout those months, and it was starting to drain him.

He missed seeing Mycroft’s face. He missed hearing Mycroft’s voice. He missed the soft hands that fit perfectly with his. He missed seeing those cold, commanding eyes that only warmed when he was around. He missed the slender, but unexpectedly strong arms that wrapped around him at night. He missed having soft, gentle lips pressing against his own. He missed Mycroft.

A few more days, and he thought he would’ve gotten a call from Mycroft. But he didn’t. Not even a text. It was rather peculiar, since Mycroft always left him messages, especially when they were apart. But there was nothing. Not even a text.

When he finally got home from the Yard, after a month of sleeping there, he collapsed onto the sofa with a loud “thud”. He could actually just fall asleep there, since he was far too tired to even think about walking to his room.

As he was starting to drift off to sleep, his phone vibrated, and he let out a loud groan. “If this is Sherlock, I swear to go-” he cut himself off when he heard hard breaths through the receiver, as if he was trying hard not to cry. It was a man. And it was definitely Sherlock.

Greg sat up, his exhaustion suddenly gone. “Sherlock? What’s going on?”

“Mycroft…Mycroft’s been caught by a terrorist cell in Kabul.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been a few weeks since Greg last saw Mycroft, and he could definitely say it was starting to affect his sanity. Sherlock and Greg were doing all they could to find out where Mycroft was being held. They’ve been contacted a few times by the official’s captors, the ransoms they were asking for all impossible to give. So their only hope for getting Mycroft back was a rescue mission. Unfortunately, they still couldn’t find out where he was, even with Sherlock’s and the CIA’s help.

But despite all that, Mycroft’s people had been hard at work, doing everything to get their boss back. They had more luck than the silver-haired man and the detective.

Greg was in the hospital with Sherlock, checking up on one of the witnesses that were involved in the case that they were working on (they were still working even while they searched for the auburn-haired man’s location), when he caught in the corner of his eye flurries of doctors pushing a gurney toward the ER. And on the gurney was Mycroft; his clothes ripped, torn, and bloodied. Various cuts and bruises were on his face, and he was already hooked up to a life support machine. His skin was so pale he looked like he was dead.

It felt as if hundreds of knives were stuck in his chest, his breathing laboured. He pushed through the doctors crowding the ER, until he was only a few feet away from the auburn-haired man.

“Myc…Mycroft…!”

The doctors tried to push him away when he got too close to the gurney, but he wouldn’t let them. Eventually, they had to call security just to get him away just so that they could get Mycroft to the ER. By the time they finally got a good distance between Greg and the gurney, his cheeks were tear streaked, eyes wild. Sherlock grabbed him by the collar and sat him down at the waiting area.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock hissed, “holding up the doctors and making their trip to the surgery room a bit longer won’t help my brother. If you don’t want this to be the end of him, let the doctors do their job!”

There must’ve been something in Greg’s voice when he whimpered, because Sherlock’s expression began to soften. He placed a gentle hand on the older man’s shoulder. “John’s there. He won’t let anything happen to Mycroft,” he smiled reassuringly, which was rather odd for the younger Holmes. “Don’t worry.”

The only thing Greg could do was nod.

_End of flashback_

A year had passed since that time. Greg jumped back from his thoughts when he saw his destination from the horizon. He was near. He slowed the car down, not wanting to rush things…or he just really couldn’t bear to go there again. No matter how many times he went there, he really couldn’t get used to it.

He parked in front of the large marble gate. He walked out of the car slowly, taking the bouquet of roses with him. He looked up at the imposing gates and took a deep breath. As he took a step through the giant white arc, he felt his breath catching in his throat. He shook his head and took a deep sigh. Everything will be okay.

He walked down the pavement for the hundredth time now, and he definitely knew the path like the back of his hand. He could close his eyes, or walk in the dark, and still know where he was going. And although this was the hundredth time now, and every time he knew he was getting nearer to his destination, he felt his knees buck under him, and sometimes, even, he would faint(only for a few seconds, though).

He looked down at his feet, realizing he has finally reached his destination. He tried to look up, but a sob began to escape his lips once he saw just the base of the black marble. He couldn’t bring himself to do it again.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes landing on the engraving on the stone.

Mycroft Percival Holmes

1975-2013

He whimpered as he read that name again and again. _God, it can’t be._ He still couldn’t accept it. Though it had been six months, he really couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Mycroft was gone. His Mycroft was gone.

He knelt down in front of the grave and laid down the roses, “These are for you, love…” he tried to smile, thinking that Mycroft can actually see him right now, and that meant he needed to be happy. Mycroft wanted him to be happy. “These are osirian roses…your favourite,” he mumbled as he rearranged them on the dirt. He lightly traced the letters engraved on the headstone, smiling a little. “Your mum actually used your full name…that’s a nice sentiment, don’t you think…?”

His smile faded as he caught himself actually expecting a reply. He needed to move on, and that wasn’t going to help him. “Well…” he cleared his throat, “I think it’s nice. ‘Percival’ seems like a nice name…I think.” A smile crept onto his face, but it soon disappeared as he had expected him to be behind him, ruffling his hair. But he wasn’t. He felt his eyes well up with tears, and then roll down his cheeks.

“Um…well…” he stood up after a minute, composing himself as he did this. “R-remember that time when you asked me if we were going to grow old together…?” he whispered, not wanting to say it out loud, thinking his voice might betray him.

“I was…stupid. I shouldn’t have said that…I shouldn’t have been so sure of myself…” he murmured, his tears flowing. He was undone. “I gave you false hope, Myc…But…”

“I…I did want to grow old with you. God help me, I still do.” he cleared his throat, “What I’m trying to say is…” he looked back down at the grave. A small, sad smile formed on his lips, his hand in his jacket pocket, fingers lightly tracing his hand gun. “I-I thought…” his voice cracked. He tried to compose himself again, taking a deep breath. “I thought…I’d be spending the rest of my life with you…”

A tear rolled down his cheek as he felt the wind blow through his hair, as he took his gun out. “I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone as I loved you…” He walked over to the headstone and bent down to lay a kiss on it. He lifted the gun, the barrel on his temple. “I…I miss you, Myc. And…all I’m trying to say is…” he choked, “I’ll be seeing you soon.”


End file.
